I spent a rough night.
My dreams were nightmares where I struggled to breathe. My head felt as if it were being crushed in an iron vise. Earth filled my eyes, my nostrils and my mouth. Shooting pains pierced through my skull, and my chest felt as if it were on fire.
I was drowning in the darkness and utterly paralyzed. I truly believed I was going to die.
And then a shrill, persistent ringing broke through, ringing and ringing before shutting off abruptly.
It was my mobile phone.
Thank God. It had just been a horrible, horrible dream.
I dragged on a silk robe and padded downstairs, heading for the kettle.
My mobile rang again.
“Katherine?” came a male voice. “Aubrey here.”
“Ah,” I said, suddenly jolted back to reality. “You want to come and collect the doll?”
“I’m already at the gatehouse and I don’t have a lot of time.” He sounded impatient. “I left you two messages. One was over an hour ago. Hardly good business practice.”
Stung, I glanced at the clock and was shocked to see it was almost ten.
“Just give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be right there.”
Cursing, I threw on some clothes—a pair of black jeans that were already too tight and a black V-neck long-sleeved T-shirt. I dragged a comb through my curly hair that seemed to have expanded to three times its usual size for no reason at all.
To reach the gatehouses by car was a pain—I had to take the service road, exit the tradesmen’s entrance and circle back to the main gates. But if I walked it would take me twice as long.
I drove.
Aubrey’s damaged Volvo was parked in front of the gatehouse. The colorful banner that Eric had struggled to put up yesterday morning now lay in a heap in the middle of the drive.
“Help me with this,” barked Aubrey as I got out of my Golf. We moved the banner against the stone wall moments before a large truck with Tasty Trotters emblazoned on the side swung into the entrance, nearly mowing us down.
There was a lot of work involved in setting up this annual event. I wondered if it was worth it.
“I’ll phone Eric to come and put the banner back,” I said. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”
“No. Busy day,” Aubrey said curtly. I would imagine that he could be quite intimidating in court.
I led the way inside. “I apologize for the chaos,” I said. “I’m still getting organized. I’ll fetch the doll.”
I kept the high-value items locked in a large safe that I’d installed in a small box room beyond the galley kitchen. I hadn’t yet got the gatehouses alarmed and made a mental note to do so this coming week. With hundreds of strangers descending on the estate coupled with the random thefts that had been going on in the village, I didn’t want to take any chances.
As I returned with the Black & Decker box I heard Aubrey gasp. “Jess! What are you doing here?”
“I saw your car outside, darling.” She looked elegant in white jeans, a white shirt with the collar up and the pale-blue leather jacket. She was carrying a tiny gift bag.
“I’ve got to see Rupert,” said Aubrey. He took the box from me. “I’m returning this … I’m returning his power drill.”
“I just passed him in Little Dipperton.” Jess looked at the Black & Decker box and then at me. “Don’t ask him to hang a picture, Kat. He’s hopeless at D-I-Y.”
I really didn’t know what to say so just smiled.
“What are you doing here anyway?” said Jess. “Should I be jealous?”
Aubrey seemed to pull himself together. “Kat has a lobster-tailed pot helmet that she very kindly offered to loan our farm manager.”
“Oh. That.” Jess gave a dismissive wave. “I feel like I’m the only person in the world who is not going to the ball.”
“I’m sure my mother would make you a costume,” I heard myself say, then wished I hadn’t.
Jess pulled a face. “Not my thing.”
“Must be getting on,” said Aubrey, and began to sidle to the door. “Oh, are the workmen at the barn this weekend?”
“No,” said Jess. “There seems to be some delay with the materials—don’t forget your fish helmet thing.”
“I need to clean it up a little first,” I said, and again wondered why I would lie for someone I barely knew. Maybe my mother’s penchant for storytelling was in my genes, after all.
“Wait!” Jess darted to Aubrey’s side and kissed his cheek. “I made you a curried chicken sandwich by the way. You know how caught up you get and forget to eat. Love you.”
Aubrey turned scarlet and mumbled something incomprehensible before making his escape.
“Isn’t he adorable?” said Jess. “I love it when he blushes.”
“Very,” I said, and wracked my brains for something to say. “How is the barn conversion coming along?”
“Excruciatingly slowly, especially when they don’t turn up for work. But we’ll be in by late October, I hope,” said Jess. “There is no way I’m spending a winter at Carew Court. It’s freezing cold inside even now and we’re in the middle of a heat wave. There are no showers. Just old claw bathtubs, and when the heating is turned on the pipes rattle so hard that I fear the radiators will fall off the walls. The entire place smells of mold and mothballs. The house is on a hill and gets the north wind whistling down through the valley. I’ve seen the carpet on the landing literally levitate because the windows don’t fit.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
“It’s like the upper classes were born with a gene that protects them from draughty hallways.” Jess grinned. “I’ve told Aubrey I want under-floor heating and a state-of-the-art kitchen.”
“It sounds lovely,” I said.
“Sorry! I am going on as usual. I almost forgot why I came this morning.” She passed me the bag. “Happy birthday!”
“Oh—thank you. But really, there is no need.”
“Of course there is. Turning forty is huge. I hope you like it.”
The little bag was stuffed full of tissue paper and sparkles. I brought out a clump and unwrapped it to reveal an identical bracelet to the one Jess had been wearing the day before.
“Jess! I can’t accept this!”
“You admired mine and I thought … why not. We’re going to be firm friends, after all.”
My heart sank. I’d been through this kind of thing many a time before. Fans would send inappropriate gifts in the hope that I would become their friends. But back then I didn’t have to worry about hurting any feelings. My publicist would send the giver a warm and appreciative thank you letter and then promptly donate the gift to a hospital or a women’s shelter. But here I was faced with a truly awkward situation.
“I’m sorry, I just…”
“You hate it,” she said.
“No, not at all.” And I didn’t. I liked it a lot.
“It’s just a little something. A trinket,” said Jess. “I bought it from a jeweler in Dartmouth. I always like to support local artists, don’t you?”
“Well, in that case, thank you,” I said.
“Try it on. The catch can be a little tricky,” said Jess. “I hope it fits. I had to guess your size. The idea is to collect charms. But I prefer a more simple look.”
“Can I get the key?” came a familiar voice. Eric strolled through the front door.
And then the most extraordinary thing happened.
All the color drained out of Jess’s face.
Eric turned beet red. “Maureen? What on earth are you doing here?”